


A Dozen Assorted

by Scheherezade06



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Drabble Collection, F/M, Originally Posted on Tumblr
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-09-27
Updated: 2014-09-26
Packaged: 2018-02-18 22:43:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 12,874
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2364713
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Scheherezade06/pseuds/Scheherezade06
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of drabbles, one-shots, and short fics, mostly based on Tumblr prompts.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. S3 Hiatus and 3b Musings

**Hiatus Musings, #1: Reunited, and it Feels So Good (my take on Emma getting her memory back, based on spoiler pics)**

**Rating: E for Everyone**

**.**

Frowning at the earnest (and possibly crazy) man in front of her, Emma uncapped the little bottle of disturbingly bright pink fluid.

"Bottom's up," she mumbled.

The blue-eyed man's lips twitched up into a smirk at her comment. His eyes were even prettier when he did that.

Emma took a deep breath and tossed back the crazy-town Kool-Aid. It burned like bad booze, and not just in her esophagus. Fire radiated out from her chest, up through her head and down through her limbs. It only took a moment, but it was intense. She swayed on her feet. Blinking, she saw the blue-eyed man— _Hook_ —had his hand out to steady her if she needed it.

"Oh, my god," she gasped at him, searching his eyes.

He saw the recognition in her expression and his face lit up for a moment. Then he shuffled nervously and his brow furrowed.

"Emma," he said with embarrassment. "I'm sorry I had to disrupt your hap—"

"Shuddup," she said gruffly, throwing her arms around him.

He inhaled sharply in surprise, his arms tentatively coming to rest around her like she was a fragile, precious thing that might evaporate from his grasp.

"Swan," he said, his voice full of emotion.

"Shut up," she repeated, enunciating clearly this time. She huffed a sound that was half-chuckle and half-sniffle. "Just give me a minute, okay?"

"As you wish," he murmured into her hair, squeezing her tighter to his chest and running his fingers through her hair.

* * *

 

**Hiatus Musings, #2: Storybook Love (my take on the "so you tried TLK" conversation, based on spoiler pics/info)**

**Rating: T, I guess?**

**.**

"So," Emma mused, swirling her drink, "you tried True Love's Kiss."

"Aye," he said, his face tightening for a second before going smooth again. "Thought it would have saved time, had it worked."

He was trying to play it off cool, but Emma could see that it had upset him.

"I guess you didn't talk to David about that, then," Emma said, baiting him.

"No," he said, his eyes meeting hers in surprised confusion, "I did not. Why do you mention it?"

She picked up her glass before speaking.

"He could have told you that it wouldn't work," Emma said, hiding her smile by taking a long drink.

He studied her for a moment, trying to suss out her intent.

"Is the prince privy to some secret I'm not?" He said, clearly curious and making negative assumptions.

"He is," Emma said.

He frowned, looking away.

"I see," he said darkly, taking a drink of his beer.

Emma leaned back, watching him carefully. She did enjoy teasing him, but she didn't want him to suffer unnecessarily.

"He tried it on Mary Mar—uh, Snow White when she had amnesia," Emma said, pausing for effect. She caught his eyes again and he looked cautiously curious.

"He  _tried_  it?" he said.

"Yep," she said, popping the P and hiding behind her glass again.

"And it didn't work?" he asked, confused.

"Nope," she said in the same way, keeping her drink between them so he couldn't see her smirk.

"Because…" he began, brow furrowed. She could almost see the cogs turning in his head.

The way his face lit up when he figured it out was priceless.

"Swan," he whispered, his voice full of hope and longing. His eyes met hers with smoldering intensity.

Uh oh.

"That doesn't mean it  _would_  have worked on me," Emma said quickly. "Uh, I'm just saying that trying it was a dumb thing to do."

"Idiotic," he said, his lips curling up.

"Stupendously stupid," she affirmed, gesturing with her mug.

"But if you have your memories…" he hinted, leaning in.

She set down her drink and licked her lips.

"There's no magic here," she challenged.

"So if I kissed you now..?" he murmured, eyes glinting mischievously.

"Nothing would happen," she said. Her eyes darted unconsciously to his lips.

"Nothing at all, love?" he purred. He leaned closer, his gaze flicking to her mouth. He raised an eyebrow.

"Not a thing," she said, a little too breathily.

She made herself lean back, picking up her drink as a shield. They were in a crowded pub after all, and he still hadn't explained about the danger her parents were in.

He read her and mirrored her, letting the moment pass. He raised his glass.

"Here's to David getting kneed in the jewels," he said, blue eyes dancing with mirth.

Emma clinked her glass to his.

"Actually, I think he got punched in the face," she said.

"I'll drink to that," he said, grinning.

* * *

**CS Drabbles, Hiatus Musings: "Killian Misses Emma," A Sonnet in Iambic Pentameter**

**(yes, I am a giant nerd)**

**.**

My Swan, thy face is with me ev'ry day:  
When I arise and when I fall asleep.  
Without thee, mine horizons have turned gray.  
Far brighter are the memories I keep.

Thine eyes, they live behind mine when I blink,  
More green than oceans deep or meadows fair.  
Thy kiss doth tempt me when I chance to wink;  
But when I reach for thee, I grasp cold air.

I never thought I'd let go of my love—  
My Milah whom I never shall forget.  
But swear do I by all the stars above  
That I have lost mine heart into thy net.

No day goes by without a thought of thee;  
Until we reunite, please happy be.

* * *

**My version of one of the missing scenes in New York City Serenade**

**Takes place right after Walsh goes bananas (uh-hyuck).**

**.**

Emma was angry when she and Killian came down from the terrace and re-entered her apartment. 

She threw herself into the task of packing a bag each for herself and her son.

Killian watched her, giving her the space she needed as she fumed, working off the frenetic energy of the day’s events and whatever had happened on the rooftop. 

Killian wanted nothing more than to collect her in his arms, but that’s not what she needed.  Her needs would always come before his wants.

When the bags were packed and set aside, Emma combed the apartment thrice, looking at everything and nothing.  She frowned into drawers and cabinets, searching for something.

“Swan,” he said quietly.

She startled, looking at him with wide eyes for just a moment before she schooled her face into a grimace and looked away, pulling open another drawer.

“Emma,” he said in an even softer voice. 

He watched her shoulders heave and then slump as she sighed.  She straightened her back and turned around to look at him. 

She stared at him for a moment, her face tight, brows furrowed.  Emotions flickered behind her eyes, and she eventually settled back on anger. 

She scowled at Killian.

“He was one of  _you_ ,” she spat, poking a finger at him.  “He knew about the potion.  And he wasn’t even  _human_.”

Killian nodded once, face guarded, listening.

“Eight months!” she exclaimed.  “For eight months, he was  _playing me_ , lying to me.”

Emma shook her head, running her fingers through her hair and gesturing up with open hands, as if to shield her head from something.

“Why?” she asked.  “Why do I fall for liars and thieves and—”

She cut off and closed her mouth sharply, pursing her lips for a second before speaking again.

“—Freaking  _storybook characters_ ,” she finished lamely.

Killian couldn’t help the small smirk that turned up the corners of his mouth.

She made a frustrated noise and paced the kitchen for a minute, slamming drawers and cabinet doors open and shut.

   “Another drink?” Killian offered, holding up the bottle.

She turned to look at him again.  She seemed to weigh options for a moment before she walked around the kitchen counter.

“Yeah,” she huffed, plopping down into the chair opposite him and letting him pour her another double.

She threw it back, draining the cup in two quick swallows. 

She set her glass down hard and gestured for Killian to refill it. 

He did so without comment. 

Emma took a sip from the refilled glass, letting the alcohol burn.

“He asked me to marry him,” she said quietly, shaking her head and looking down.  “At dinner, right after you left.  He did this cheesy thing with a dessert with a ring on the plate, and I just bolted.”

When Emma looked up, Killian’s face was a carefully neutral mask, but his eyes were dark.

“Seems I arrived in the nick of time then,” he said with a tight little smile.

She chuffed at that, and then they sat in silence for several minutes, each sipping their respective drinks.

The ticking of the clock behind her annoyed Emma.  Looking over her shoulder, she saw it was after ten. 

She chewed on her lip for a minute before turning back to face Killian.

“Do you have a, uh, hotel or something?” Emma asked, even though she could guess the answer.

“A what?” he said, blinking.

“Someplace to stay the night,” she said.

“I bunked with some rather colorful characters this afternoon,” he said, “thanks to you.”

He inclined his head and raised his glass in mock toast.

“Yeah, well,” she said, grinning for a moment.  “Where’d you stay the night before?”

“In the park,” he said.

“In Central Park?” she exclaimed.  “That’s illegal!”

“It’s against the law to sleep out of doors?” he said, clearly annoyed.  “That’s daft.”

“You could have been arrested,” Emma admonished.

Killian cocked an eyebrow at her, and Emma couldn’t help but snort.

“Is it safe to assume you don’t have any place to stay tonight?” Emma asked.

Killian was absolutely still for a moment, and then he licked his lips.

“I had hoped that I might stay here,” he said, his face guarded but his tone supplicative.  “When will your lad be home?”

“Henry’s staying the night with a friend,” Emma said. 

Killian’s eyebrows rose.  He licked his lips again and Emma watched his throat bob as he swallowed.

“You can stay on the couch,” Emma said, gesturing to the piece of furniture with her head.

Killian turned to look at the sofa.  He’d slept on smaller cots before.  The couch certainly seemed more comfortable than the cold ground of the park.  It wasn’t as inviting as curling up with Swan, but he wasn’t going to push his luck. 

He looked at Emma again. 

“I’ve got blankets and stuff,” she said.  “It’s really pretty comfy.  I’ve slept there when I felt sick.”

“I’m sure it will be more than adequate, love,” he said, “especially compared to the accommodations I’ve endured the last few nights.”

“Oh, and I’ve got something you can change into,” she said, “if you want.”

That caught his attention.  He cocked his head to the side.

“I bought Henry some pajamas the other day, but they’re still too big,” she explained.  “They might fit you.”

“Pajamas?” he asked, curious.

“Sleeping clothes,” she explained, gesturing at his ensemble, “without buttons or… leather.”

He chuckled at that.

“I’m quite used to sleeping in leather, Swan,” he said, grinning.

“I’m sure,” she said.  “Have you even  _changed clothes_  in the past year?”

“Aye,” he said.

She waited for him to elaborate, but he said nothing more.

“So, um, I’ll grab those,” she said, standing up.

She hesitated for a moment, one hand on the back of her chair.

“And I really need to take a shower after everything that’s happened today,” she said, running her hand through her hair again.  “Do you mind if I..?”

He shook his head.

She nodded. 

“Thanks,” she said.  “I’m gonna do that first, then.”

Emma turned and left— _fled_ , if she was being honest—to her room to grab her pajamas and a towel.  In the bathroom, she stripped quickly, throwing the outfit she’d worn when her life had dissolved into a heap behind the door. 

The hot water helped to relax her body, if not her mind.  She washed her hair and conditioned it, the weight of her wet hair heavy on her shoulders. 

She tried not to think of it as a metaphor. 

When she exited the bathroom, rubbing her hair with her towel, she heard his sudden intake of breath.

His eyes roved over her in a hungry way, but he made no comment.  His adam’s apple bobbed franticly for a moment as he took her in:  Skin flushed from the shower, wearing a thin tee-shirt without a bra and simple drawstring cotton pants. 

Emma pretended not to notice his reaction and turned, entering Henry’s room to fetch the pajamas she’d promised to Hook.

_Hook._

  She realized she couldn’t call him that in front of Henry. 

Then what would she call him?  She asked herself, and she heard her own voice answer in her head:  His name, of course.

The memory came sharp and hot, a visceral thing that knocked the wind from her and stabbed her straight in the gut:  “ _Killian Jones.  But most people have taken to calling me by my more colorful moniker._ ”

It felt like yesterday.  It felt like a lifetime ago.

It felt like a dream.

Emma gathered up the pajama pants and a tee-shirt and went back into the living room.

She found him where she left him, sitting at the table with a bottle that was missing a couple more fingers of booze since she last saw it.

She took a deep breath before speaking.

“Killian,” she said for the first time, tasting the name, liking the way her tongue flicked across her teeth when she formed the word.

He went completely rigid, and then his eyes went wide and his mouth went slack.  He looked like he wanted to get up from his seat but couldn’t remember how.

“When I introduce you to Henry,” she stammered, “I’ll have to call you Killian.”

It felt strange to her, saying his name again in context.

“I can’t very well introduce you as Captain Hook,” she went on, babbling a little. 

Her cheeks were pink, but she still had the shower flush, so she hoped he didn’t notice.

“Aye,” he croaked, staring into his glass.  His tone was wistful.

“Here are the pants,” she blurted, handing over the pair of plaid pajama bottoms.  “I hope they fit.  You can change in the bathroom.  Do you know how to… uh…”

He looked at her as he accepted the garment.

“My time in prison was quite educational,” he said with an upward twist of his lips.

His eyes were still too wide.

“Right, yeah,” she said, feeling sheepish this time instead of amused.  “Sorry about that.”

“All’s fair that ends well,” he said.

Killian got up and went into the bathroom.

Emma grabbed a sheet and blanket from the linen closet and the extra pillow from her own room.  She stripped the extra cushions off the sofa and dressed it as she would a bed, with the sheet, blanket, and pillow. 

About a minute after she finished, Killian emerged from the bathroom with his arms full of leather.

Henry’s dark grey tee-shirt fit Killian snugly, stretching taut across his shoulders. 

Emma watched as the pirate strode across the room to lay his black clothing on the kitchen table.   The black and white plaid pants were too small as well, the cuffs landing above Killian’s bare ankles.  The fabric of the pants hugged Killian’s bottom and thighs, and Emma could fully appreciate every step he took away from her by the way the plaid pattern mapped the contours of his backside.

He was clearly wearing nothing beneath the pants.

Emma swallowed hard.  She had always appreciated his leather pants, but cotton pants were good, too.

When she finally pulled her eyes up to his face, she found him smirking at her over his right shoulder.

“See something you like, love?” he quipped.

He turned to face her and she  _refused_  to dip her gaze, meeting his eyes as boldly as he could.

“Hmm?” She said, suddenly realized he’s said something and she hadn’t quite caught the words.

He just grinned at her.

“These are a bit tight,” he said, tugging at the fabric near his hip with his hand and shifting his weight.

She was certain that he was baiting her.  Emma  _almost_  flicked her eyes down.

“But,” he continued, grinning, “they are more forgiving than leather.”

Emma rolled her eyes.

He was standing somewhat awkwardly, Emma realized, and she noticed he was hiding his left arm in the pile of clothing he’d set on the table.

She nodded her head at it, letting him know she’d noticed.

“It’s not pretty,” he said with a tight smile.

“I’m a big girl,” she said.

He hesitated.

“Perhaps tonight isn’t the best night,” he said softly, dropping his gaze.

“Okay,” she said just as softly.  “Some other time.”

She made it a statement instead of a question.

He nodded.

“Some other time,” he agreed.

They stared at each other for another moment, and then he looked away again. 

They were standing on opposite ends of the room from each other, and the space between them seemed huge.  Part of her wanted to be closer, and part of her wanted to be farther still. 

  “Is there anything else you need before I turn in?” she asked.

His eyes rose to hers again.  He shook his head.

They stared at each other awkwardly, each holding back.

“Hook?” she said, finally.

“Yes, Emma?” he replied immediately.

“Thank you,” she said quietly but intently.

He searched her eyes for a moment and then nodded.

“Good night, Emma,” he said.  “Sleep well.”

“You, too,” she said.  She licked her lips.  “Killian.”

   He smiled, sweet and sad.

She gave him a matching smile and then turned and went into her bedroom.  She closed the door most of the way, giving them both some privacy, but keeping the way between them open. 

Both were important.

She heard him rustle around in the living room as she settled into bed. 

Staring at the ceiling, she heard him sigh as he shifted on the couch.  She let out a sigh of her own and closed her eyes.

.

Emma woke in a cold sweat, a scream caught in her throat.

She sat up, her breath coming in ragged gasps.

The nightmare had been muddled and was already fading, but Emma’s heart still pounded.

“Swan?”

His voice was soft, but full of concern.

She reached for him instinctively.

He inhaled sharply before appearing at her side and taking her hand in his.

The touch soothed her, and she couldn’t help but lean against him, pressing her cheek to his abdomen just below his breast bone and between his lowest ribs.  She inhaled, but his scent wasn’t quite right.  He smelled like lavender detergent instead of salt and sun and leather.  His shirt was soft and warm against her cheek instead of the cool, creaking material she’d expected.

“Is this a dream?” she asked tentatively, eyes closed.

She pressed per palms flat against his ribs.

“If it is, it’s one of mine,” he murmured, running his fingers through her hair.

She chuffed at that, and felt her whole body relax at his touch and words.

He guided her back to the mattress as she went limp, leaning over her as he lay her head on her pillow.

She opened her eyes and found his face very close to hers.  In the darkness, his skin was ghostly pale, making a stark contrast to the inky blackness of his hair.  His eyes were a deep and intoxicating blue.

The look on his face was undeniable.

She’d seen his affection before, but the intensity of it in that moment was so thick, it filled up her lungs.

It should have made her feel like she was drowning.  It should have made her want to run.

But she wasn’t afraid.

She smiled.

“Thank you,” she whispered.

He smiled back at her and stroked her hair—not as intimate as touching her face, but just as sweet.

“Sleep now, Emma,” he murmured.

He began to hum softly, and Emma let sleep reclaim her.

.

In the morning, Emma woke to the sound of the intercom buzzing.  She sat up drowsily, confused.

Where was she?

Her head was too full of memories and dreams, and she had to close her eyes and hold her head for a moment to try to center herself.

“Swan?”

The familiar, accented voice sounded worried and tentative and very close.

Emma opened her eyes to find Killian standing in her doorway.  He had redressed in his leathers and was staring at her with a nervous, searching expression.

“Are you all right, love?”

“Yeah,” she said a little breathily.  “Just,  _full_.”

She touched her head as she said the last word.

“Aye,” he said with a nod.  “That I understand.  Can’t imagine gaining a decade in an instant, but I’ve got centuries in here—” he tapped his own head “—and things can get muddled, especially in the morning.”

Emma blinked at that.  She kept forgetting he’d been in Neverland for so long.

The intercom buzzed again in the background.

“Should you do something about the screaming box?” he prompted after another moment.

“Oh, right, yeah,” she said, getting up and going straight to the intercom and pushing the button.  “Hello?”

“Mom,” Henry’s voice said through the speaker.  “You guys awake?”

“Uh, what?” Emma said, panicking at his words.

“Is Walsh still there?” he said.  “Are you guys, you know, dressed and stuff.”

“Henry!” she exclaimed, feeling her cheeks go pink and feeling Killian’s eyes on her.  “Walsh isn’t here.  He didn’t stay the night.” 

“Oh,” Henry said.  “Um, okay.  Then, I’ll be up in a sec.”

“All right,” Emma said. 

She turned to Killian, who was studiously staring at his hook.

“Um, do you mind leaving for a little while?” she asked.

“Of course,” he said, nodding his head, already heading toward the door.

“Go upstairs,” Emma called, “so you don’t meet Henry as he comes up.  Wait twenty minutes, then come back, okay?”

“I’ll go fetch some firewood, my lady,” he intoned, winking and bowing as he walked backwards the last few steps to the door.

Emma rolled her eyes and grabbed Killian’s laundry and bedding.  She took it into her room and closed the door.  She quickly picked out something to wear and got dressed.  She heard Henry arrive as she was slipping on her boots.

“Breakfast?” she said as brightly as she could when she came out into the living room.

“What happened?” he asked, taking a seat at the counter.

Emma walked into the kitchen and began preparing her story and breakfast.

* * *

 

**Missing Scene from "Kansas" - Set right after the drowning/resuscitation.**

**.**

“ _What did you do?”_  he asked, aghast. 

Emma averted her eyes and scrambled to her feet. 

“We’ve got to get out of here,” she said gruffly, looking anywhere but at him.

He pushed himself up to his knees.

“Emma…” he breathed, voice broken and full of pain and longing. 

“We have to get to the hospital before it’s too late,” Emma all but shouted.  She was tense, on edge, shifting and fidgeting with nervous energy.

“Swan,” he tried again, quieter, rising to his feet and reaching for her.

“ _Don’t,”_  she huffed, finally meeting his eyes, if only for a fraction of a second before she had to look away again.  “Just don’t, okay?”

After a beat of silence, he sighed and dropped his hand.

“I’m so—,” he started.

“We don’t have time for this,” she said in a strained voice, turning away and storming off toward the bug, refusing to let him see how scared she’d been—how vulnerable.  She hunched her shoulders and fumbled for her keys with her gloved hand.  They slipped between her shaking fingers and he caught them, moving too quick and quiet, making her jump.  He held them out for her, his expression sincere and washed with worry.  She snatched the keys from his damp palm, mumbling a quick “thanks” without meeting his eyes.  When she finally managed to get the door open, he was still standing beside her, dripping and watching her with that heart-breaking expression. 

“Get in the damn car, Killian,” she said in a raw tone.

He inhaled sharply, surprised yet again by the woman before him.  He hesitated for only a second before complying with her command. 

Once they were both in the beetle, the small sphere of metal seemed too small for the pair of them, too intimate. 

“Shut up,” she growled preemptively, and he couldn’t help but chuff quietly at that.

_Emma Swan will be the death of me,_  he thought, his eyes flicking up to her face, watching her as she started the vehicle and began driving at a high rate of speed,  _if she ever lets me die._

 


	2. Five Sentence Fiction

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tumblr Prompts answered in Five-ish sentences.

**Prompt: Stuck in the Trunk of a Car**

"I'm going to kill you," she said, trying to bring her arm around so her shoulder wasn't quite so cramped.

"How was I supposed to know the bloody thing couldn't be opened from the inside?" he complained, shifting against her in ways that were utterly  _unhelpful_  to their current situation.

"What was the best thing that could possibly happen in this situation?" she demanded, accidentally hitting him in the nose as she finally freed her arm.

"Ooph, well, I had some thoughts," he said, recovering easily and dripping innuendo.

"Oh, yeah?" she said, annoyed and (very slightly) amused. "Then you damn well should have picked a car with a bigger trunk."

**.**

**Prompt: CS Blind Date**

Ruby had set it up, and Emma honestly wasn't sure why she had even agreed to the stupid idea, because she had no desire to babysit some slack-jawed, mouth-breathing primate for the evening, regardless of the bet or the promise she'd made or Ruby's assurances that  _this time_  it would be different (Emma still hadn't forgiven Ruby for the Walsh fiasco).

Sitting at her little table in the corner wearing her agreed-upon bright pink dress, Emma gave up watching as various men came in and looked around for their dates, since none of them had given her a third look (she'd gotten several second glances, thank you very much).

And that was why she didn't see him until he was standing at her table, all artfully ruffle hair and black tailored slacks, and half-unbuttoned dress shirt under a charcoal vest.

"Emma Swan?" he lilted in a delicious accent, blue eyes meeting hers as a little smirk curved up his lips. "I'm Killian Jones."

"Huhh, hi," she stammered as she took him in, silently praising her luck and her friend's bizarre sense of humor. "Nice to meet you."

**.**

**Prompt: Tied Up (Went WAY over the 5 sentence limit on this one…)**

Hitting him with an umbrella stand had been cathartic. Handcuffing him to a set of metal storage shelves had been even better.

Maybe she did have a thing for it.

She'd sent Neal—ugh, Neal—back upstairs to Henry and Gold before going through the unconscious pirate's pockets. Neal hadn't even protested.

Alone in the semi-dark storage room, Emma looked down at the broken man in leather. He looked almost peaceful in sleep, different than he had in the hospital.

"What the hell is wrong with you," she muttered as she crouched down next to him, patting down his jacket.

The damn clepto had a random assortment of crap in his various pockets, from bits of rope and rusted iron nails to a Starbucks receipt and a lone stick of Big Red chewing gum. He also had a map of the US coastline from Maine down to New York. It looked like it'd been ripped out of an atlas.

After she'd turned out the pockets of his coat, Emma started on his vest and shirt.

The vest did have a concealed pouch, and it contained a holdout blade, a pair of pins that Emma knew were reserved for picking locks, and a worn and faded drawing of a woman. Emma would bet hard cash that it was the girl from his tattoo: Milah. Emma replaced all of the items in their place. She didn't want him following them right away, but she didn't want him to starve if no one else came down to the dank cellar storage room for a couple weeks.

Emma checked his boots next, finding another dagger and some other survival-type gear.

That just left his pants.

Emma started at the top of his boots and moved slowly up his left thigh, running her palms along the outside and inside of his leg simultaneously. Finding nothing, she repeated the motion on his other leg.

Just as her hand reached the apex of his thigh, he spoke, making her jump.

"Just a little higher, love," he murmured.

"Shut up," she replied, snatching her hands away.

"I just thought you'd wish to be thorough," he said casually. "You really ought to strip me to be sure you've found everything."

He licked his lips as he winked at her.

"Shut up or I'll gag you," she said with a sardonic little smile.

"Ooh," he said, eyeing her lasciviously.

"Do I need to knock you out again?" she said in exasperated tone.

"If that's your preference, love," he said, ridiculously cocky for someone tied up. "Though I'd much prefer to be  _involved_  in the proceedings."

Emma rolled her eyes as she stood up, brushing the dust from her hands.

"Good bye, Hook," she said, shaking her head at him.

His eyes narrowed as she backed away from him.

"Swan," he said, clearly trying for a reasonable let's-talk-about-this tone.

Emma turned around and left the storage room, shutting the door behind her.

"Swan!" she heard him yell.

The heavy door muffled the sound significantly.

With a small sigh, she went back upstairs.

**.**

**Prompt: Sneaking Out**

"Mom?" she hears Henry call from downstairs, making Emma go completely rigid as Killian continues to kiss down the side of her neck.

"He can't find you here," she hisses, yanking him by the hair as he protests wordlessly, making unhappy noises into her skin, grazing her throat with his teeth. "Come on, pirate, you need to leave,  _now!_ "

He starts to say something, but she's half-dragging, half-shoving him out the window before he can articulate whatever hair-brained scheme he has for staying in her bed when Henry is on his way up the stairs to check on her.

Pirate successfully thrown out, Emma pulls the curtains closed at the same moment Henry opens the door.

Emma's mouth falls open when she sees that her son is holding up a very familiar-looking black leather coat.

**.**

**Prompt: Road Trip Bologna**

He hadn't complained once, but she'd seen him shifting uncomfortably for over an hour: long legs and leather pants did not combine well with a small car and a long drive (she she knew she could use a stretch and a snack, too); so Emma found an exit, the sign for which indicated there was gas and food available, and she drove the bug to the little convenience store, pulling up to the curb; they were the only car there at lunch time on a weekday.

All three of them exited the car gratefully (if stiffly), and Henry headed straight for the bathroom in the back of the store while Killian wandered the aisles, solemnly and curiously eyeing the pre-packaged snacks and beverages.

Emma took her turn in the bathroom and picked out her road snacks, keeping one eye on the pirate who seemed fixated on something in the refrigerated groceries section; she went to retrieve him and found him clutching a little plastic-wrapped container of sliced bologna and staring at it with a stricken, unpleasant expression.

"Swan," he said, meeting her eyes with horror, "am I to believe this is not, in fact, some heinous concoction designed to torture men in the custody of the state?"

Emma couldn't help but laugh as she plucked the packet from his fingers and replaced it in the cooler, then she turned to shake her head at him with a grin, making him grimace before he wandered on to the next display, muttering to himself.


	3. CS - Han and Leia style

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A three-sentence fic based on a Tumblr prompt.

**Tumblr Prompt: Three Sentence AU Fanfiction based on a pairing and setting given by another user.**

**I was given: "** Captain Swan. Star Wars - Leia/Han Solo style."  **by** youhavemehooked

**This is my take on a scene from "The Courtship of Princess Leia" (one of the, like, three Star Wars books I've actually read).**

**Rating: T**

**.**

The ship jostled and swerved around them; Henry was flying the Falcon and firing the blaster canons, sweating with effort, doing the job of three people simultaneously; Gethzerion had shattered his leg and several teeth, but Killian couldn't care about that when Emma was kissing him, finally kissing him.  
"Emma," he said, pouring as much emotion as he could into one short, mumbled word, reaching up to stroke her cheek as she drew back to give him that princess-ly how-dare-you-put-me-through-this look.  
"Shut up," she said, clearly fighting a smirk as she slapped a painkiller patch on his arm, "you stupid, scruffy-looking,  _pirate_."


	4. Hitch AU

**CS/Hitch AU Drabble (inspired by a set of AU fic prompts)**

**This is completely unedited, lemme know if you see ugly typos?**

**.**

Sitting at the bar after a long day, Killian noticed a beautiful blonde woman sitting by herself in a seating area meant for mingling.

"She's some kind of P.I.," the bartender said to Killian, nodding to the blonde. "Comes in here once in a while. Great tipper."

"What's her drink?" Killian asked, fiddling with the napkin under his beer.

The barkeep grinned.

"Usually beer," he said. "Tonight, Grey Goose martini, dirty."

Nodding, Killian ordered two of her drink and started to make his way to the blonde, but he was cut off by a scruffy looking brown-eyed man with a wide grin.

Killian dodged behind a nearby pillar and decided to listen in.

"Hi," the interloper said, oblivious to the blonde's obvious disinterest. "I noticed your glass was getting low… so I took the liberty of bringing you another apple martini."

"Thank you," she said with a tight little smile, immediately looking away.

"And I couldn't help but notice," the intruder continued, "you look a lot like my next girlfriend."

He grinned at her like god's gift, and Killian couldn't help but wince at his lack of game.

"What's your name?" the blonde said, setting down her drink.

" They call me Chip," he replied, popping the P.

"You can't get them to stop?" the blonde said with a patronizing smile.

Chip laughed.

"That was funny," he said, but the blonde was already talking over him.

"Listen, I understand the courage it takes to walk across a room and try to generate a relationship out of thin air," the blonde said, "So don't take the following personally—"

"You have fantastic eyes," Chip said, interrupting her.

Killian shook his head in disbelief.

"Thanks. Try to listen," the pretty blonde said, her smile frozen in place, "This is no reflection on you. I'm just not interested. But thank you for the compliment of coming over."

Killian grinned at her diplomacy.

"You're welcome," Chip said.

Killian got up to take him place, but the daft git didn't get the message.

"So do you like Cuban food?" he asked.

Killian sat back down, irritated.

"Chip, seriously, that was not code for, 'I wish you'd try harder'," the blonde said, her own irritation starting to show in her tone.

"Are you always so shut-down and afraid that the right man might make you—"

"Feel like a natural woman?" Killian finished for Chip, dropping his hand heavily onto Chip's shoulder and giving him a snide grin.

Killian turned his eyes to the beautiful blonde, giving her an apologetic smile.

"Sorry I'm late, darling," he said directly to her. "I couldn't get a cab. How was the meeting?"

"Oh," the blonde said, looking up at him with a half-amused smile and taking the offered out. "Well, there was a beginning, a middle, and an end."

She turned her eyes back to Chip.

"Nice to meet you, Chip."

"You, too," he said in defeat, turning to size up Killian before slinking off into the dark of the bar.

Killian watched the blonde, who was trying to fight a smirk as she watched Chip leave.

"On the one hand," Killian said conversationally, it is very difficult for a man to even speak to someone who looks like you. But on the other hand, should that be your problem?"

"So life's kind of hard all around," she said, her face tight.

"Well, not if you pay attention," Killian lilted, removing the apple-tini Chip had left behind and sitting down across from the blonde. "I mean, you're sending all the right signals, love: no earrings, heels under two inches, your hair is pulled back, wearing reading glasses with no book, drinking a Grey Goose martini—which means you had a hell of a week and a beer just wouldn't do it. And if that wasn't clear enough, there's always the 'bugger off' that you have stamped on your forehead."

She laughed at that, which was encouraging.

"Because who would believe there is a man out there that can sit by a woman he doesn't know and genuinely be interested in who she is, what she does, without his own agenda?" he continued.

"I wouldn't even know what that would look like," she said, playing along. "So what would a guy like that say?"

Killian grinned. She was clearly still guarded, but she was speaking to him, and that was a good sign. She'd even leaned forward, a sign of attraction. Killian mirrored her, leaning toward her.

"He would say, 'My name is Killian Jones and I'm a dashing rapscallion,' but she wouldn't be interested in that, because she'd be counting the seconds until he left."

"Thinking he was like every other guy," she said, nodding in confirmation.

"Which, life experience has taught her, is a virtual certainty," he said. "But then he'd ask her name and what she did for a living… And she might tell him to bugger off. Or she might say…"

He watched her, keeping his gaze on her eyes.

She chewed her lip for a moment as she decided. She was like an open book—he could see the wheels turning behind her eyes.

"I'm Emma Swan," she said finally. "I work for Ragged Angel Investigations."

She didn't give him a chance to reply, clapping her hands together as she leaned forward more to snark at him.

"And then he'd ask all these penetrating questions about her, because he was sincerely—if atypically—interested," she said sarcastically.

"No," he said, shaking his head as if her idea was ridiculous.

"No?" she parroted in surprise, brow crinkling.

"He'd be interested," Killian purred, "but he'd see that there was no way he could possibly make her realize that he was genuine."

"Well, he could be funny and charming and refreshingly original," she said, picking up her drink.

"Wouldn't help," Killian said.

"Don't you hate it when that happens?" Emma said.

"Not really," Killian said, already making plans for how he'd contact her next. "They'd both probably go on to lead the lives they were headed toward. My guess is they'd do just fine."

Her surprised/amused little smile was lovely.

"It's a pleasure to have met you, Emma Swan," he said, nodding to her before rising and striding off without a backward glance.

Emma blinked after him, shocked.

"Grey Goose martini from the gentleman who just left," a waitress said, swooping in and setting down a drink in front of Emma.

Emma scrambled up out of her seat, but Mary-Margaret arrived just then.

"Is that for me?" Mary-Margaret said, scooping up the drink the waitress had just set down.

Emma sat back down, grinning at her friend.

"What?" Mary-Margaret said, taking a sip from the martini.

Emma just laughed, her thoughts on a 'dashing rapscallion.'


	5. More Tumblr Prompts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Random Tumblr Prompts (Tumblr URL is scheherezade06)

**Three Sentence Prompt: CS AU, Training to be a Boxer**

"It's bleeding!" Killian complained, holding his nose and glaring at her indignantly.

"Wouldn't have happened if you'd been holding the bag correctly instead of watching my boobs," Emma replied as she unwrapped the tape from her fists.

"Kiss it better?" he asked, pouting at her, but she just rolled her eyes.

.

.

**Three Sentence Prompt:** _**RED SWAN** _ **AU, Winter in the City**

The chatter in the street died out as the countdown overtook all other noise in Time Square.

When the clock struck midnight and the cheering reached a climax, Ruby dove in and gave Emma a quick peck on the mouth, startling the blonde, who blinked at Ruby, feeling color rising in her face that matched the pink of the brunette's cheeks.

Emma found Ruby's gloved hands with her own and squeezed her fingers before pulling Ruby firmly into her arms for a longer, more satisfying kiss.

.

.

**Anything Goes Prompt: Jealous Pirate Swan (NOTE: This ended up becoming my fic, "A Pirate's Life for Me")**

When Captain Swan entered the tavern, she found royal Lieutenant Killian Jones already seated to dinner. He was eyeing the clientele warily from behind his mug, clearly uncomfortable in the seedy establishment.

Honestly, she was surprised she'd convinced him to meet her at all, but he was proving to be a man of his word.

As she crossed the room to join him, a dark-haired wench approached the lieutenant, putting her hand on his shoulder as she leaned forward to thrust her ample bosom in his face. His eyes flicked down automatically, but rose to her face quickly, spots of color appearing on his cheeks.

The wench seemed to enjoy that, so she unceremoniously plopped herself into Killian's lap, throwing her arms around his neck and pressing herself to his chest.

One of Killian's arms shot out to encircle the girl, and it made Emma frown. She knew deep down, that it had been a reflex to keep the woman from falling, but she still didn't like it.

And why hadn't he gotten rid of her, yet?

Emma crossed the taverns in long, sure strides, drawing her dagger as she did so.

She grabbed a fistful of the woman's thick hair and yanked her head back sharply, pressing the point of her dagger to the woman's pale, creamy throat.

"I believe you're in my seat, love," Emma purred into the woman's ear as she ran the dagger back and forth across her skin, raising a fine, pink line.

"B-b-beggin' your pardon, ma'am. I-I didn't know," the interloper stammered, flinching and disentangling herself as much as she could while restrained.

"Make sure it doesn't happen again," Emma said, releasing the woman roughly.

The wench stumbled away from the table with a murmured "yes'm."

Emma didn't watch her go. Her eyes were intent on Killian.

"I hardly think scaring the girl was necessa—" he began.

Emma cut him off by throwing one leg over him and sitting on his lap, facing him. She grabbed his lapels and crashed her mouth to his greedily.

.

.

**Anything Goes Prompt: Hook and Emma the night before the big show down with the Wicked Witch. Conversation and fraternization?**

She just needed some air.

Emma quietly left the loft, closing the door carefully so as not to wake her parents. Henry was staying with Regina (which had required some strange explanations).

The night air was cold, but it helped clear Emma's head. She chose a direction at random and just put one foot in front of the other.

She was surprised when she found herself at the docks.

And even more surprised to find Hook there, too.

"Can't sleep?" he said, stepping close to her as they both faced the ocean.

"No," she said with a barest hint of a sigh, "you?"

"Seems not," he mused.

They were silent for a minute, each watching the waves roll and crash against the docks.

"Cold?" he asked after a bit, turning to look at her.

Emma shrugged.

"Shall I offer to warm you up?" he said with just a hint of salaciousness, his lips quirking into a little grin.

Emma chuffed, her own lips twitching upward as she rolled her eyes in amusement.

"Not tonight," she said seriously.

Emma was pleased to see the shock cross his features before he re-schooled his face into a leer. He stuck his tongue between his teeth and gave her a look from head to toe and back again.

She cocked her eyebrow at him, silently challenging.

He leaned forward, his warm breath caressing her face when he spoke:

"You couldn't handle it," he said, enunciating clearly.

Emma laughed, and it felt good after everything that had happened in the last few days.

"Seems like a good incentive to make it through all this, doesn't it?" she said, biting her lip suddenly, half-surprised at her own words.

"Aye," he said, his eyes intent on hers.

"That's when the fun begins?" she asked, her eyes darting back and forth between his.

He nodded.

"That's when the fun begins," he repeated, giving her a little smirk.

She smiled back and then turned back to the water.

He watched her for another beat before turning as well, standing beside her, their shoulders touching as the watched the waves.

.

.

**Anything Goes Prompt: AU Childhood friends Killian always bugs Emma from crib throughout college**

**I'm not sure this is what you wanted, but this is what you're getting, Nonnie:**

He was always stealing her food.

Since they'd been small children at the orphanage, the first thing Killian always did when he approached Emma was commandeer any snack she was enjoying.

He made up for it by always sharing his own, and by the time they were in high school, Emma didn't even blink. She just batted at his hands—always too slowly, and he'd throw whatever tidbit he'd plundered from her lunch tray into his mouth with his signature grin.

And then there was the incident with the jam.

When they went off to college (just the local university in their city, nothing fancy), they'd moved in together as roommates to try to keep expenses down.

Killian still stole Emma's food: climbing over her on the couch to sit beside her and horn in on her take-out, reaching around her when she looked through the fridge to snatch the orange juice out of her hand and take a swig straight from the bottle, or plucking a sandwich out of her hands to steal a bite.

Emma was standing in the little kitchenette, trying to make a peanutbutter and jam sandwich, but all the flatware was dirty, and she didn't want to search through the sink for a utensil.

So she used her fingers.

Emma scooped out a glob of jam with two fingers and messily spread it across a slice of bread.

The door opened and closed as she tried to make the layer even, and then Killian was there, standing beside her, invading her personal space, looking over her shoulder to see what she was doing.

When he saw her fingers smeared with jam, his hand shot out, and Emma knew he was going to steal her half-made sandwich.

But she was wrong.

He grabbed her hand and tugged on it, effectively spinning Emma to face him as he pulled her fingers up to his face and sucked them into his mouth.

Emma's jaw dropped open in shock.

She watched in mute fascination as he licked every bit of jam from her skin and then continued to nibble idly on her suddenly tingling fingertips.

When she finally looked up at his eyes, his expression was a revelation.

Emma's sandwich was left forgotten on the counter for the next several hours.

And the neighbors ended up calling the landlord on them for "disturbing the peace."

.

.

**Anything Goes Prompt:** **Emma is jealous that their newborn baby likes Killian and Henry more than her. (something like the baby only laughs with them and not her or something, only accepts food from them idk you're the creator of the story :) )**

Emma knew she was a bad mother.

She couldn't get little David Liam to stop crying.

He hated her.

Her false memories of soothing Henry weren't helping. Regina had made him a perfect little bundle of effortless joy when she'd implanted those happy recollections in Emma's brain.

They were useless.

"Mom?" came a concerned voice from downstairs.

Emma hadn't heard the door over the wailing of the irate little man in her arms.

Henry poked his head into the nursery a moment later, his eyes taking in the scene of his mother, sobbing as she sat in the ergonomic glider/nursing chair with a red-faced, ball-fisted infant in her arms.

Bottles and binkies and lovies littered the table next to her.

None of them had helped.

"Want me to try?" Henry said gently.

Emma nodded, too upset to speak.

Henry crossed the room and gently plucked his half-brother out of their mother's arms.

"Hey, Davey," Henry cooed in his far-too-deep-growing-up-too-fast voice. "Why are you giving Mom a hard time, huh?"

Emma raked her fingers through her hair and fled to the bathroom to wash her face.

When she came back, the room was silent.

Emma momentarily panicked, wondering what horrible monster had stolen her sons.

But there they were in the nursery: Henry had his brother pressed to his shoulder, where the baby was gnawing on the collar of his shirt and gurgling contentedly as Henry took small, bouncing steps around the room. He was humming some tune Emma didn't recognize.

"You're some kind of dark wizard," Emma accused her elder son.

"Level thirty," Henry teased quietly, grinning at Emma. "You're just jealous that he likes me better."

Emma's face fell and she felt new tears forming in the corners of her eyes.

"Don't worry, Mom," Henry said quickly, giving his mom a sweet smile. "He'll realize how awesome you are. Everyone does eventually."

.

.

**Anything Goes P** **rompt, lovely :: awkward first-date Captain Swan**

Emma smiled when she heard the knock on the door.

She straightened her shoulders and checked the mirror one more time.

She hadn't work the form-fitting pink dress in a while, and she'd spent a year eating fruit roll-ups with Henry, but it still looked damn fine, if she did say so herself.

Emma tossed her hair back over her shoulders and went to the door, opening it with a calm expression.

Killian stood on the stoop in all his pirate glory. He'd swapped out his usual black vest for a stunning crimson one, but otherwise, he was the dashing rapscallion she'd come to know and love during their adventures in three (and a half) realms.

"Swan," he said, just as he had when she'd opened the door in New York. He gave her a smile and then gave her outfit an appreciative once-over. "You look especially radiant this evening."

"You, too," she replied, grabbing her coat off the hook near the door. "Ready?"

Always," he murmured, his lips quirking into a smirk as he offered Emma his elbow.

She took it with an amused little snort.

She locked the apartment and let Killian lead her down stairs.

"Drive or walk?" she asked him when they reached the sidewalk.

He seemed to consider for a moment.

"The weather's fair," he said. "With no disrespect to your jauntily colored vessel, I think I'd prefer to walk."

Emma laughed again, and the pair headed off toward Granny's.

About three-quarters of the way there, Emma snapped the heel off one of her pumps.

"Son of a bitch," she said, hopping on her intact shoe as she rotated her ankle to see if it was injured. It was tender when she tried to put weight on it, so she leaned against a lamppost instead. "I twisted my ankle."

"They did seem like perilous shoes," Killian said in a low voice.

Emma wasn't sure if she'd been supposed to hear. She shot him a terse look.

"Shall I carry you?" he offered.

"In this dress?" she asked incredulously. "How exactly am I gonna preserve my dignity if you carry me?"

"It seems to me more dignified than limping down the street with one broken shoe," he said.

Emma rolled her eyes at him.

He started to remove his coat.

"What are you doing?" she asked.

"Preserving your dignity," he quipped.

He flipped the coat over Emma's shoulders with a flourish and tugged her away from the lamppost. Emma arched an eyebrow at him but slid her arms into the sleeves of the jacket.

It smelled like sea and leather and  _him_.

Killian wrapped the lapels of the coat across Emma and then swept her off her feet, his left arm around her waist and his right arm under her knees.

Emma reflexively wrapped her arms around his neck.

Killian carried Emma the rest of the way to Granny's without speaking. His breath was a little labored—a fact that made Emma intensely self-conscious—but he never complained.

When they arrived, Killian kicked the door open and strode in gallantly, making all the patrons look up in surprise. He carried her to one of the booths and set her down gently, drawing the coat from her shoulders.

Well, he tried to draw the coat from her shoulders, but Emma crossed her arms tight, keeping the coat to cover how her skirt had ridden up while she was in his arms.

"You can't keep it, Swan," Killian muttered, trying again to extricate her from his jacket.

"Ixnay," she ground through her teeth at him, but he clearly didn't understand. She sighed. "Just give me a minute."

Aware of every set of eyes on her, Emma tried to right her skirt as discretely as she could through the heavy leather coat.

Killian cocked his head to the side as he watched her, but his puzzled expression eventually melted into an amused smirk.

"Shut up," she growled at him.

He just grinned in reply.

Killian dutifully stepped closer to Emma, blocking the view of most of the patrons of the diner.

"Need some assistance, love?" he purred.

"I said, 'shut up,'" she said through clenched teeth, giving him an ugly little smile.

Once her skirt was in order, Emma slipped out of his coat and into the booth.

Killian shrugged back into the jacket and slid into the booth opposite Emma.

"You really should elevate your ankle, Emma," he said with an amused grin. "Why not put it in my lap?"

Emma gave him her best "are you serious?" look and shifted to lift her foot to rest it on the bench beside him.

Ruby arrived then to take their drink order.

"Hey," she said, looking them over with a tiny smile. "Need some ice for that?"

"Not a bad idea," Emma said. "Thanks."

"Sure," Ruby replied, "be right back."

Ruby disappeared again, and Emma couldn't help but notice that half the diner was still staring at them.

"Relax," Killian said softly. "Try to enjoy yourself, love."

Emma sighed.

Ruby returned with a bag of ice and a glass of red wine.

"I took the liberty," she said, winking at Emma and setting the glass down in front of her. "You looked like you needed it."

"Thanks," Emma said again.

She was reaching for the wine when Ruby set the bag of ice on her ankle. Emma jumped, and the glass of wine slipped through her fingers, rotating and bouncing off the table, splashing it's contents across her face and dress.

"Son of a—!" Emma yelled, barely able to rein herself in before she caused an even larger scene.

"Sorry!" Ruby said, biting her lip.

"It's fine, Ruby. Don't worry about it," Emma said, blotting her face with a napkin.

"I'll get some soda," Ruby said, dashing off again.

"Why did I ever think this was a good idea?" Emma mused aloud.

Her eyes flicked to the man across from her, and she saw his hurt expression at her words.

"Going out in public," she said quickly, trying to sooth him. "We should have just watched a movie in the loft."

Killian seemed mollified by her words. He took her injured foot in his hand and slid it purposefully into his lap. He wrapped his fingers around her ankle and gently explored the joint, pressing lightly and making her flex her foot.

"It's always an adventure with you, Swan," he said softly, his lips quirking up. "I wouldn't have it any other way."


	6. Undercover Cops AU

**_Tumblr Prompt:_ Killian is undercover to uncover a prostitute ring and Emma, his partner needs to get him a message by going undercover as one of the girls AU**

_Tumblr prompts, yay!  
If you wanna read a really good police/FBI-type AU, you should check out Provacateur, by swaggercaption It's the best! I don't know much about crime dramas, so this is a fic-ception kinda set in her world-ish._

* * *

"She's hot," Ruby said, tapping the screen and popping another Cheeto into her mouth. Emma could hear the crunch from her position next to the dark-haired computer tech in the back of the van.

"Seriously, Lucas?" Emma replied, raising an eyebrow. "She's probably a pros."

"Still hot," Ruby said with a shrug. "Your partner's got good taste."

The two women watched the grainy security feed for another minute, the silence in the van punctuated by the occasional crunch of a Cheeto.

Suddenly, the radio screeched and came to life.

"Swan," David's voice barked over the com. "We've spotted Gold at another club. Get your partner out of there."

Emma snatched up her receiver and brought it to her lips.

"Copy that," she said, then she pressed the button to unmute the mic linked to her partner's earpiece. "Jones."

Emma waited a second before continuing.

"Gold's elsewhere, get out," she said. She watched for another moment, but the undercover agent made no indication that he'd heard her.

"Jones," she repeated, louder. "We need to move. Get out. Now. Do you copy?"

Emma watched as her partner laughed at something the pretty redhead said to him, reaching other to sweep her hair back from her shoulder.

"What the hell, Ruby," Emma muttered, turning on the computer tech. "I thought you fixed these damn things?"

"I thought I did!" Ruby replied, her fingers flying across the keyboard. "Diagnostic says he piece is offline."

She gave Emma an apologetic smile.

"Dammit," Emma swore. She pinched the bridge of her nose for a second. "I'm gonna have to go in there."

"What?" Ruby said.

"We've got to get Jones out," Emma said. She looked down at her business-casual attire, then she eyed Ruby's risque ensemble. "I know I'm gonna regret this…"

.

A short while later, Emma carefully wobbled her way to the club. She'd made Ruby check to make sure her earpiece was operational while she wrestled herself into Ruby's blood-red mini dress and dangerously high-heeled shoes. After that it only took the computer tech about ninety seconds to paint Emma's lips to match the dress, line her eyes with way too much sweeping black, and tease her hair into a messy tangle of what could only be described as "sex hair." Ruby even had a tiny bottle of whiskey in her purse ("for coffee," she explained with a sheepish grin) that Emma swished to give herself the charming aroma of a drunk woman.

When Emma approached the club, the bouncer moved the rope for her, his eyes on her legs, and Emma slunk through the club to the back table where Killian Jones was entertaining a small table of regular clients and scantily-clad dancers. Her partner cut quite the figure in his tailored black suit. The pretty redhead from the monitor was sitting quite close to him, leaning forward to let her tiny purple top display her cleavage to advantage.

Emma took a deep, centering breath before she rounded the leather sofa, bending over to run one arm along her partner's shoulders and nudge his leg with her knee.

"Hey, baby," she purred in a throaty voice. "How 'bout we get outta here?"

"Thanks, love, but I'm already—" Jones began in his lilting accent. He turned to glance at Emma and did a double-take when he recognized her. His eyes widened for a fraction of a second, his mouth freezing with his jaw hanging wide as he took in her outfit and… assets.

"Well, hello," he murmured, clearing his throat. He was clearly still trying to figure out what was going on and how he was supposed to play it.

"You, me… elsewhere," Emma said, bending over further. She intended to tap on his ear to try to let him know that the device wasn't working, but the others at the table were watching too closely. She quickly switched tactics. She sucked his earlobe between her teeth.

" _Now_ ," she said, trying to infuse as much intensity into the word as she could.

He swallowed hard and let out a little grunt.

"How about you back off, sister," a bald, bearded man at the table said, his arm draped around a wide-eyed brunette dressed in pink.

"It's all right, Leroy," Jones said, raising a hand to placate the other man. "Clearly this bird needs an escort back to her—" he eyed Emma from top to bottom "—trailer park… Never let anyone tell you I'm not a gentleman."

He winked at the bearded man while Emma continued to tug on Jones' shirt collar. It took every ounce of Emma's self-control not to roll her eyes and punch her partner in the gut. Jones rose fluidly from the plush leather sofa, pulling Emma into his arms. She stumbled, her too-small shoes proving to be very unstable. Jones caught her, forcing a laugh.

"Easy there, princess," he said in a teasing tone, "I think you've had a bit too much."

Emma gritted her teeth but forced a smile and a titter.

Jones spun her around to face the exit and then grabbed his jacket off the back of the sofa.

Leroy whistled.

"Nice ass, sister," he said, and Emma began to turn around to teach the bald caveman some manners.

She stopped abruptly when Jones' hand smacked her posterior with a resounding slap. She gasped, the unexpected spank derailing her murderous thoughts about Leroy.

"Aye," Jones said, his hand returning to her flank and soothing the spot he'd just struck. "a very nice arse indeed."

Emma bit her lip to keep from punching him in the face. She'd do it later, she told herself, after they got Gold. She forced herself to titter again and shift her weight to one leg, jutting out her hip to press herself into her partner's touch. The men at the little table all guffawed and started give pointers on what Jones should do with Emma once he got her alone. She dug her fingernails into his arm until she was sure he'd have bruises as they made their way toward the exit.

"I'm going to kill you," Emma said through gritted teeth, keeping a vapid smile plastered across her face.

"In that dress, darling, I'd let you," he said easily, all cocky grin and winking eyes.

"Next time, check to make sure your damn earpiece works before you leave," she hissed.

"And miss seeing you like this?" he said with a little laugh. "Not bloody likely."


	7. Torn - Serial Killer AU

So, Vicky (vickyvicarious)'s fantabulous serial killer AU got inside my head, and I'd been considering this for a while...  
Then  _I got permission_ , and my muse flipped out. So I wrote a fanfic for her fanfic. =)

It's fic-fic! Fic-ception!

**You should read her fic first. Here on AO3, it's located in her "Shared Moments" fic as chapter 30 - "Our Own Evil", or you can find it on Tumblr.**

If you've read that, and still want more, here's my sequel:

**Torn** , CS Serial Killer AU, sequel to above story by vickyvicarious  
Rated M for violence and blood and dark themes, also un-beta-ed  
(you have been warned!)

* * *

"I want to duel you."

He laughs it off at first.

"Yeah, right," he says, shaking his head as they move the body of an embezzling adulterer.

"I'm serious," she presses, a single bead of sweat working its way down her forehead. The greedy bastard weighs well over twenty-two stone. She'd used nails on him but left his arms bound for fear his girth would have pulled him right off the cross. He'd sniveled and begged and made a right arse of himself. Killian had to leave the room in disgust.

"You can't possibly mean that, Swan," he says, fighting back the bile rising in his throat at the idea of dueling her.

"I do," she insists, wiping her brow on her sleeve.

Killian stays quiet as he watches her arrange the dead man in her usual pose, making it look as though he's been simply cast aside, but no, it's deliberate. She prods him until he's just right for whoever will find him. Clearly dead, but not disturbingly so.

_In case it's a child_ , he suspects, though he'd never tell her.

They understand one another, but some things are better left unsaid.

Once she's done, she looks up at him expectantly, eyebrows arched in clear question.

"No," he says finally, hoping she will leave it be, but her head rolls to the side and she puts her hands on her hips.

"It's only fair," she says, giving him a level look before wiping the dust from her jeans.

"No," he says again, trying to infuse the word with resolve.

Her eyes narrow for a second, then she shifts her weight, looking predatory but playful as she stalks toward him like some great cat.

"You couldn't handle it," she accuses, and he stiffens at the words.

He bites back anger. She thinks it's a game.

Well, two can play at that.

"Perhaps you are the one who couldn't handle it," he counters, the bravado coming easily. He lets it settle over him like a familiar coat.

She leans in, her lips curving up before she crashes her mouth to his, her fingers clutching the lapels of his leather jacket.

He indulges in the kiss for a moment before pulling her roughly to him and lifting her off her feet. She obligingly wraps her legs around him, and he grips her hips, carrying her toward the car. They'd brought his, as there was no way their latest victim would have fit in her Volkswagen.

_His_  car has a large, well-insulated trunk.

Killian can't help but smirk down at Emma's surprised face when he dumps her into the trunk. She starts to protest, but he closes her in, letting his smirk spread into a manic open-mouthed grin.

Emma kicks, making the car rock, but Killian ignores her, knowing there was no way for her to escape the modified trunk. He walks slowly around to the driver's side and slides into the car. He starts the engine and turns up the radio, singing along to classic rock songs as Emma adds an occasional bass thump from the trunk.

He chooses a leisurely route down to the docks. He lets the car idle for a moment while he unlocks the chain and moves the gate to the old fish-packing plant. Once through, he re-locks the gate and walks over to the large metal bay doors.

All too soon, the car is inside the facility, all exits sealed and the keys hidden in their usual place. The overhead fluorescents are warming up in the main room, the light spilling into the smaller connected room where he parks the car.

He takes a moment to stretch before collecting his cutlass from the shelf and finally opening the trunk.

"What the hell, Killian?" Emma demands as she rubs her eyes and tries to scramble out of the trunk. She stops when she sees the tip of his sword, only inches from her face.

"Through the doorway, if you please," he says, gesturing with his head.

She narrows her eyes, but then a look of excitement crosses her features. She climbs out of the trunk and follows his instruction, leaving the little garage. He shadows her, closing the door once they are both through and making sure the automatic lock engages.

He knows what to expect when he turns around; it is always the same: the moment of awe.

Emma had taken a few steps into the room, her hair glowing under the bright artificial sun. He swallows the lump in his throat.

"Choose," he says gruffly, and she immediately turns to the racks of swords arranged along the north wall. He accumulated quite a selection over the years: broadswords, longswords, katana, gladius, estoc, viking, claymore, flammard, rapiers and scimitars, jian and shotel, sabers, kalis and nodachi, hook swords, fencing foils (which no one ever chooses, of course), and one antique spatha.

The choosing is his favorite part. The anticipation, the wonder at what one might pick up to defend one's life. Killian closes his eyes for a moment, listening to Emma's boots as she crosses the stained concrete floor. The room is wide, easily the size of a school gymnasium, and plain beyond the weapons, each carefully cared for and maintained. Killian keeps the floor as level as possible, meticulously filling any gouges that are torn during his combats. The ceiling is high, studded with round fluorescent tubes protected by steel cages.

Emma takes her time, and Killian waits. She's being careful, examining each weapon in turn. His eyes pop open when he hears the telltale song of a blade being drawn. It's an Indonesian klewang, which surprises him. But as he watches, she frowns at the angular sword before returning it to its sheath.

Killian's breathing grows heavy as Emma runs her fingers along the racks of weapons. Some others have done this-drawn it out. Sometimes it is due to indecision, sometimes fear. Only twice has someone examined the options cooly. The one before Emma had put up a hell of a fight. But the time an individual took didn't always correlate to ability. His fiercest opponent had taken only a matter of seconds to choose a weapon.

He knows the moment she's made her decision. Her entire being shifts as her fingers curl around the hilt of the European broadsword. He nods once as she draws it-it seems to suit her. Her shoulders square as she turns around to face him.

The familiar calm settles over him. Everything else in the world fades away until there is only his cutlass and his opponent. The world is simple. The world is  _fair_.

He flicks his sword and feels a well-worn smirk pull his lips tight.

He waits.

Emma hesitates, her stance wide, uncertain. The sword dangles from her loose grip. Something in his countenance has given her pause, but it is too late. She's asked for this, and he will give her what she has requested.

She lifts the sword, her face contorting into a mask of determination and she charges him, raising the blade high and bringing it down in a fierce arc toward his right shoulder. The blades sing out as he parries with a grunt, the run-up has given her strength. She raises the sword again and tries a second downward slash, but he simply turns his blade sideways to take the blow.

Then she kicks him, which surprises him, and he grunts again, taking a few steps back. He watches her as she charges again, all strength and aggression, no finesse. He blocks and then twists the blade from her hands with a flick of his sword.

She comes at him unarmed, letting out a shriek as she rushes forward with both hands reaching for his lapels. He sidesteps, sending her to the ground. She rolls away, and he lets her scramble to reclaim her fallen weapon as he rolls his neck and runs his tongue along his upper teeth.

Once armed, Emma stands across from him, holding her sword more warily, watching him. Perhaps she thinks he'll wait for her to attack again. If so, she is mistaken.

He lunges, tapping her sword with his before spinning to move closer. It's a showy move, but he's in one of those moods, and she isn't terribly skilled. She blocks high and then low, but he's aiming at her sword and not her body, playing cat and mouse.

He presses in close as their swords are crossed.

"Good form," he says. He says it every time, part of the ritual. "But not good enough."

She goes for another kick, but he hooks her leg and sends her to the ground again, making her cry out. He doesn't let her roll away this time, swooping down from above. She holds her blade up toward him, eyes wide as she tries to protect herself. He slides his blade down hers, making them ring. He drops to one knee, and she's done. There is no escape.

He considers gloating, but he's not feeling terribly verbose.

Unexpectedly, she looses her sword and swings a bare fist at his chin. He snaps back, avoiding the punch, and she takes the opening to kick him again. He stumbles backward and she scrambles to her feet. She lunges immediately, and he blocks it just in time. She's trying to disarm him instead of going for a wound or kill, and he isn't sure if he's disappointed or not. He twists her sword around until it is pointed to the ground. He can see the anger in her eyes. She lets go of the sword with her right hand and goes for another punch, this one connecting with a sickening crunch to his jaw. He staggers back, glad her hand was empty. His eyes are watering from the impact.

He rubs his jaw for a moment and grins at her, and he can tell she thought the blow would put him down. She's wary, breathing hard as she watches him. He takes the time to strip off his jacket and toss it to the far corner of the room, then he turns to her again, raising both arms in an exaggerated fencing pose. She starts to bring her blade up as well, but he strikes quickly, nicking her cheek.

She hisses in surprised pain, pressing her fingers to the wound, and then she gasps at her blood-smeared hand. She narrows her eyes and grips the hilt of the broadsword with two hands, bringing it up again. He lets her, and waits for her lunge, spinning again as she charges forward. He slashes as he goes, drawing a red line across the bicep of her left arm. She lets out an enraged shriek and elbows him in the ribs. He lets out an 'ooph' and turns to face her, catching her wild thrust and turning the blade down again. She headbutts him over their crossed blades, splitting his bottom lip on his teeth and making him curse. He spits blood and lets his cutlass flash out toward her again, this time slicing the fabric covering her right thigh. She stumbles back, shoulders heaving with each rapid breath, her eyes completely wild.

She charges him, yelling, and he readies to receive. But she feigns, surprising him, and he almost misses the block. Her blade glances across his hip, tearing a stinging gash in his flesh. He stumbles back, but she doesn't press. When he looks up, he sees the entire front of the right side of her jeans is stained with blood. When he meets her eyes, he can see she knows she's done, but she doesn't yield.

Emma lifts her sword and her chin, silently challenging him to finish her.

He attacks immediately, disarming her with a flick of his wrist and sending her to the ground. She grunts when her head hits the cement, but she fights back when he kneels over her and grabs her right arm.

He pulls back the fabric of her sleeve and sets his blade to her flesh, letting the razor edge of his cutlass part her skin as though it were made of the cream it resembles. She inhales sharply through her nose at the pain, and he meets her eyes. He sees the defiance there, but also the surrender.

_This would be a good way to die._

He finishes the cut quickly, making a red bracelet for her to wear as a reminder. He has a pair of ligature scars from her that he wears with a strange sort of pride. Maybe this is the 'fairness' she wanted.

He kisses her then, and she responds with every ounce of her waning strength, pouring everything she has left into the kiss. When she falls away from him, she lets out a shuddering breath, and he can feel the blood pooling beneath them.

"Bloody brilliant," he murmurs, ripping the torn fabric of her jeans to get at her most serious wound.

He wonders if she's any better at stitches than he is.


End file.
